


Home

by inkiestdawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Little bit of Fluff, Little bit of angst, Oral Sex, Scars, Smut, self conscious reader, slight PTSD, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkiestdawn/pseuds/inkiestdawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You and Dean have been apart for too long; months of recovering from a Wendigo attack that almost killed you. As much as you want to see him, you're nervous and afraid that he'll be turned off by your scars but, if there's one thing Dean knows, it's about feeling unworthy. Fluff and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Seriously, you have to stop ;) If I keep pulling over, it’ll take me forever to get there.

You stare at the screen, reading the text over, scrolling up through the conversation.Your stomach cramps with a mix of excitement and worry. The small smile on your face falters.

It’s been two months since you’ve seen him, two months since you were almost killed by a Wendigo. While you were on forced rest to recover, he had work to do.

Pulling at the hem of your short nightgown, you try to swallow down a sudden rush of shame. Your hands shake as you smooth the fabric down over your breasts and stomach. Setting your phone down, you walk upstairs to the spare bedroom, the only room in the house that has a mirror large enough.

You turn the light on and shift to face the mirror. Holding your breath, you pull up the hem of the nightgown, fingers tracing over the large, nasty scar that begins just above your pubic bone. The skin is shiny, jagged, an angry red. It feels smooth but uneven to your touch. It curves up and over your ribs, a second scar joining the first around your back and up to your shoulder blade.

A brutal bruise on your thigh left two large busted veins, dark blue and ugly. You drop the hem.

For some reason, he loves this stupid nightgown. It’s nothing special; off white with small blue flowers, cotton. It’s short and a bit worn. One of the thin spaghetti straps broke awhile back so you knotted it. The lace trim at the top of the sweetheart neckline has started to fray.

Your shoulders slump forward and you start to pace. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Flicking the light off, you sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. Maybe you should change.

The palms of your hands are cold and clammy. You gently massage your aching fingers to try and get the circulation going.

Sexting him was easy and fun. You’ve been sending dirty texts most of the day, starting as soon as he said he was free and coming to see you. As the day progressed, you found yourself becoming more and more anxious.

A shiver racks through you when you hear the deep purr of the Impala’s engine. There’s no mistaking it. You hug yourself, shaking with a dangerous mix of excitement and fear. You can’t wait to see him but you’re terrified. You can’t even admit to yourself what it is that scares you so deeply that you’re willing to doubt the one person you trust with your life.

You hurry down the stairs, pausing at the door a moment before grabbing your phone out of the kitchen. Pacing through the kitchen and into the living room, you jump when you hear a key in the door. You look at the stairs, knowing you don’t have enough time to run up and change into something less revealing, less ridiculous.

Energy buzzes through you, making you feel a little sick.

The door opens.

You see his hand grab the inside handle, long fingers, strong and familiar. He’s wearing a dark brown jacket, jeans, boots. He backs into the house, pulling a duffle bag in after him.

His cheeks are covered in scruff and he hasn’t had a haircut in a while. You have to remind yourself to breath as your heart stutters an uneven beat in your chest at the sight of him.

He turns.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you lick your lips nervously, fidgeting.

“H…hey,” you stammer.

Dean tilts his head, studying you. He’s trying to guard his expression but you can see the worry in his eyes.

“Hi,” he closes the door, locking it. Turning to face you, his body fills the doorway. You take a small step forward, fighting simultaneous urges to take a step back and to run to him. You stay put, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

His gaze goes to your cell phone on a side table by the couch. It buzzes softly, alerting you to an unread message.

Dean sets his bag down. Eyes never leaving you, he slowly takes his jacket off, hanging it behind the door.

He gets it. More than you could ever know, he does know how you feel. He knows what it is to feel broken, beaten, ugly and unworthy. So, Dean sits on the bench in the hall to take off his boots, giving you all the time you need.

Blowing out a breath, you pad carefully over to the couch and sit. You cross your legs, uncrossing them to set your feet down, placing your palms on your thighs, wishing you were wearing pants.

Dean places his boots neatly on a rack. In the doorway, he rubs his hands on his jeans and pauses a moment before walking over. He sits beside you, his weight shifting the cushions, putting you off balance. You lean your back on the arm rest, pulling your knees up to your chest.

The fluttering in your stomach intensifies. You bite down softly on the inside of your lower lip, willing yourself to be calm. This was supposed to be exciting and fun.

Dean pulls his right knee up on the couch, shifting his body to face you.

“How're you doing?” he asks, his voice, so familiar and deep, is low, soft.

You swallow hard, “I…uh…I thought I would be better,” you admit. “I don’t know why…”

You feel your heart rate increase. Your hands start to shake and you look everywhere but at him as panic sets in.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, leaning close but not touching you, “I’m here.”

He holds his arms out, open, and you lean into him, burying your face into the soft fabric of his shirt. You breathe him in; laundry detergent and soap and Dean. He pulls you closer, placing soft kisses into your hair, murmuring, “I’m here.”

“I just thought,” you begin, voice muffled by his chest, “I was so excited but now…”

“You know what? It’s been a long drive and I’m pretty beat. How about we just turn in?”

Equal parts relief and worry make a toxic sludge that works its way through you, tightening your chest, stealing your breath.

“Ok.”

***

You lie in bed while Dean dumps his bag in the spare room. He wanders into the bathroom, setting a small bag of toiletries down on the chest by the sink. He’s stripped down to his underwear and a t-shirt.

You feel ridiculous, small and silly. Earlier in the day, you texted him about all the dirty, naughty things you wanted to do to him, revelling in his reaction, thrilled knowing how turned on he was. Now you just wish you could close your eyes and sleep, hoping you feel better in the morning.

Dean turns off the bathroom light. He pauses in the hall, “I can crash in the spare room.”

“No,” you sit up quickly, wincing at a sharp pain in your side, “please.” You pull the covers aside to make room.

Your house is small and the biggest bed you could fit in your room is a double. Dean has never shared this bed with you. There have been motel beds, spooning on couches, tents, the Impala, but never this bed. You’ve had plenty of fantasies about him while here, pleasuring yourself to the thought of his body, the attention he pays to yours, but now…now it feels all wrong. You feel all wrong.

Dean’s footsteps are soft and the room is dark but the bed shifts as he settles himself down. You can smell him, feel the warmth radiating off of him, his breath on your face and hair as he shifts and wriggles down under the blankets. Your heart hammers inside of your chest as his legs and arms brush against you.

He settles finally, facing you. You can just make out the outline of his face, the glistening of his eyes. You smell his breath, minty from his toothpaste, before his lips brush softly against yours. You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut, embarrassed at the reaction.

“Y/N,” Dean murmurs, pulling away just enough to give you a bit of space. He palms the side of your face, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone. “We can take this slow. I don’t have any expectations.”

“Oh?” The small feeling of doubt that settled itself deep inside of you earlier intensifies into full blown insecurity. Unconsciously, you make yourself small, pulling your knees up and curling in on yourself.

“Well,” Dean inches closer, hand sliding down from your face to your shoulder and around your back. His touch is light and tentative. “I did have a lot of things I wanted to do, very creative things,” you hear the smile in his voice, “but they can wait.”

“Ok.”

“Especially that thing you mentioned, with the ropes.”

“Oh?” The corners of your mouth twitch into a small, timid smile, “you’d like that?”

“I would. Very much.”

You take a deep breath, calming. Dean feels the muscles in your back relax. He smiles to himself as you stretch your legs out, wriggling a foot between his ankles. He pulls you close as you open to him.

You duck your head under his chin, pressing your nose to his collar bone. He has a scar that begins somewhere around there. You’ve seen it many times, kissed it, touched it and the many other scars he has. He’s always been open about them, told you the stories; victories and defeats, people saved and lost. Dean, without even knowing it, does what he does best. He gives you courage.

“I…I’m afraid of your reaction,” you say, pressing your lips to his skin once the words are out.

He lifts himself up and over you, the weight of him heavy on your chest as he leans over to the bedside table, turning on the light.

Dean looks down at you, leaning in for a kiss as his hand settles softly on your thigh. He runs his fingertips up your hip and side, pulling the nightgown up. His lips are soft, the kiss gentle and sweet. The contact sends your thoughts spinning, an electric current following his touch.

You sit up, raising your arms so that he can pull the nightgown off. He lets it drop to the floor.

Dean props the pillows behind your head. You lie back, eyelids fluttering as his fingers brush against the soft mound of one breast, then the other. He moves back, lowering his head until his lips caress the space just below your navel. Your eyes snap open and you look down, panicked, not realizing that you’re trying to get out from under him until you feel his hands holding you down, gentle but firm.

“It’s ok,” he murmurs, leaning back to pull his shirt off. His muscles move as he raises his arms, lifting the t-shirt up and over his head. Scars criss-cross his chest, stomach, arms, and ribs, some faint and fine, others angry red and deep.

He looks down, “Not your first battle scar.”

“No,” your voice shakes, thick with emotion, “but it’s the worst, for more reasons…”

“That doesn’t matter,” he whispers, hand going to your thigh, thumb rubbing against the busted veins visible beneath the surface.

“You’re a warrior, a survivor. Like Sam and….and me.”

You clear your throat and shake your head, “No, I…” you feel tears spring up and blink them back.

Dean shifts his weight up, holding himself over you. He leans down for a kiss. Your lips open to his.

“You are so brave,” he says between kisses, “so strong.”

Legs straddled on either side of your thighs, he lowers himself carefully on top of you, deepening the kiss. His tongue is soft in your mouth, stroking and tasting. Not without some effort, you pull your focus away from the fear and doubt and lose yourself in him. The feeling of his body on yours, the taste of him, the smell; you return his kiss more passionately, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. You pull yourself up to meet him.

Dean responds quickly, his kiss becoming rough. He buries one hand in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. He kisses his way down to your throat, sucking and biting gently. His other hand slips down past your waist. Your thighs are pressed tight together. He slides two fingers down to tease your clit.

You moan and arch your back, movements limited by his weight. Dean releases you, sitting up and back on his heels. The muscles in his jaw tighten and his nostrils flare as he looks down at you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time,” he says, inching back down the bed and spreading your legs wide.

Watching your face, he lowers himself until you feel his breath, hot against your pussy. You close your eyes, moaning as he licks your clit softly. He spreads your lips apart to run his tongue over your entrance and up to lap at the tender, aching peak. You feel a rush of heat and moisture, moaning softly as he licks and sucks, the stubble on his cheeks scratching at your thighs, his chin rough against the tender flesh of your pussy.

The combination of sensations has you writhing under him, the soft edges of pleasure intensifying.

“Dean, please,” you gasp, rocking your hips up against his mouth, running your hands through his hair.

He slides two fingers inside of you, crooking them, massaging your g-spot.

“Oh, fuck yes,” you pant. He pumps his fingers in and out slowly.

You sit up, grabbing his arms and pulling him up, whispering, “I want you.”

He nods, leaning in for a kiss. He smells and tastes of your sex, the scent making your head foggy. You slide your hands down his body, hooking your thumbs into the waist band of his underwear to pull them down. Dean inches out of them, his cock falling low between his legs, thick and hard.

You take him in your hand, stroking him roughly as he kisses you, his lips moving over yours, hungry and demanding. His hands are on your breasts, fondling and kneading, thumbs brushing against your nipples. They harden and darken under his touch as though blushing from his attention.

He runs his hands down to grab at your hips, pulling you around and down onto him as he sits back against the headboard. You straddle him, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit.

Dean moans, fingers tightening around your hips. You slide his cock down one last time against your clit to your entrance, wet and ready. Sliding him in, you lower yourself slowly, sighing as his cock fills you. Dean rests his forehead against your temple; eyes closed in bliss as your muscles cradle him, tight and warm.

You place your hands on his shoulders, rocking your hips, sliding up and down his hard shaft. Dean kisses your jaw and chin, lowering his head to take the bud of one breast into his mouth, suckling softly. You arch your back and moan, running your hands down his arms and up and over his abdomen.

He cups your bouncing tits, driving his hips up inside of you, hard.

Picking up the pace, you pant softly as you bounce in his lap, rocking your hips back on the way up, grinding your clit into him on the way down. Dean’s head falls back and he groans. You nip at his neck, nuzzling the soft spot just under his ear, breathing him in.

He slides his hands down to your hips, pulling you up and off of him. Moisture slides out of you, slicking your thighs.

Dean turns you around, his breath hot against the back of your neck.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod. He places your hands up on the cool metal of the headboard, his hands sliding down your sides to knead your ass. You jerk when you feel the first kiss on your back, between the twin scars. Dean slides his hands around you, one sliding up to cup a breast, the other down between your legs as he continues to kiss his way along the jagged welts. You can’t help but duck your head and squeeze your eyes closed when he presses his lips to your shoulder blade, where a third and final mark joins the rest, deep and still painful.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. He rubs at your clit, fingers sliding in the wetness between your folds.

You clear your throat and focus on the pleasure building again between your thighs, the tightening in your core as he strokes and rubs.

He slides his other hand down, fingers trailing a path down your ribs and abdomen and around your hip. You feel him guide his cock up inside of you, moaning low as he presses up, burying himself deep.

Dean keeps rubbing your clit, rocking his hips into your ass, his cock sliding in and out of you in a heady rhythm.

Small sparks of pleasure build and combine as you near orgasm. You move faster, closing your eyes.

“Yes baby,” Dean moans, reaching around to cup your chin and turn your head for a kiss. He pants heavily as he pulls away, slamming his cock inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” you gasp as the world tilts and pleasure courses through you. You grip the headboard tight, leaning forward, pushing your ass back against him as he pounds into you, your muscles milking his cock, waves of bliss making you shake.

Dean grabs your hips, pace furious. With a low moan, he slows and stops, resting his head against your back as he cums inside of you.

His body wrapped around yours, he takes a deep, unsteady breath as he starts to relax. His cock softens inside of you, sliding out slowly, followed by his cum. You squeeze your thighs together, sliding down onto your back , shoulders cushioned by the pillows.

Dean gets off the bed. He takes a moment to steady himself before heading to the bathroom. You hear the water running and the soft squeak as he turns the tap off. He walks back in, cloth in hand. You admire him, the width of his shoulders and the trail of dark blond hair that leads from his navel down. He crawls onto the bed and over to you, smiling. His cheeks crinkle up at the corners of his eyes and your heart almost falters as he leans in to kiss you. He presses his hand between your thighs, gently rubbing between your legs with the damp cloth.

Finished, he tosses the cloth into the bathroom and slides under the covers, wrapping his arms around you.

“When do you have to head back home?” you say softly, knowing he can’t stay long. You kiss his forehead and the freckles on his cheeks.

“Home?” He pulls away to meet your gaze, “Wherever you are. That’s where I wanna be, that’s home.”


End file.
